The Barrel Monkey
by Kuyeng13-The Heart Logos
Summary: There is a legend that the cymbal playing monkey will grant your wish if you touch its heart. And so it did. "Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?"


_**Disclaimer: Don't own the Phantom of the Opera.**_

_665, ladies and gentlemen: A papier-mâché musical box, in the shape of a barrel-organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals._

…

_Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?_

There is a legend that if you touch the barrel monkey's heart it will make your deepest wish come true.

The first one to touch the barrel monkey's heart was its maker.

He pressed his brittle aging fingers to its lead figure and breathed, the air rattling in his chest.

_What is it my creator? What is it that you wish of me?_

He closed his eyes and wished to pass without pain.

_And so it shall be my longing master._

So the years passed, people paying homage to the monkey on the barrel organ dressed in fine Persian robes. Every time it granted a wish, every time someone pressed their fingers to its chest it lost a little more. Every time it lost a little bit more of its magic.

Its second master had grander dreams than a painless death.

With maddened eyes, quick harsh breaths, and a vice like grip he rattled the monkey, his sour breath spraying spittle on the fine figure as he screamed for wealth, for power.

_And so it shall be my greedy master._

The barrel monkey chimed its cymbals, sang its wordless song, and brought him power.

It watched as the man hurt many, took from many, killed, raped, ravaged, and reaped the benefits of its power. Its heart became ridden with guilt for unleashing this pain. But it could not rescind the wish, nor could it avert its eyes. It continued to clap its cymbals.

Soon after the second master died it became lost to the underground.

Its next master was a mistress. She was angry her lover had given her a barrel monkey and yet to apologize for cheating on her! She hissed into the monkey's permanent mocking smile her rage, her jealousy, her desire.

_And so it shall be my vengeful master._

And so he exacted her revenge.

The cycle continued.

Granting wishes, hurting some, helping others, losing more and more of its magic. Every time it lost a little more of its original brilliance, its kindness, its empathy towards humans, every time it retreated a little bit more from the world.

It watched as its masters died, leaving it behind. It watched as its worth changed over the years and society forgot more and more about the magic of wishes.

Until it reached _him._

A young boy, face ravaged but mind sharp with brilliance and ambition.

The boy did not know its story. So he did not press his bony fingers to its chest, he did not whisper secrets into its forever closed ears, he did not weep onto its soft velvety robes, he did not clutch it to him. No. He wound the barrel monkey and listened.

For once, for the first time, for the last time, someone _listened_ instead of spoke to the wish granting barrel monkey in Persian robes.

So the monkey clapped its cymbals, made no judgments, and chimed its wordless song.

The boy listened, and he spoke the words that had been locked within the monkey for so long.

"Masquerade, paper faces on parade…masquerade! Hide your face and the world will never find you!" The boy wept and sang, but he did not wish. He lived off needs and not wants.

They boy grew, haunting the catacombs of the opera house, learning, growing, accepting. He never spoke to the monkey; he wound it, listened to it, sang along with it, but never spoke to it. So the monkey, so far along it its life, was satisfied.

One last wish anyway, why waste it on this pathetic child, now man? What could he wish for?

The barrel monkey watched as he grew, became the Phantom of the Paris opera house, and grew in infamy. He watched as the boy accomplished his wishes without its help. The monkey was proud, in a faraway sense of the word. Slowly the monkey grew to admire its latest master, taking and giving, a brilliant shadow, a guiding demon, a loving nightmare of the people of the surface world.

The monkey watched as his master dreamed, dreamed but did not ask.

It couldn't help but find this master admirable. How many masters had it outlived prior? How many destroyed by ambition based on the most base of human nature? Greed? Lust? Hate? Gluttony? Wrath?

Too many.

And here, in the dark and damp of the city of lights was a soul of purity within a body of corruption. The monkey couldn't help but appreciate the irony.

It was as if the world's appearance matched this master's soul, and this master's appearance matched the world's soul!

And then, she came. This creature of white and gentleness and mock purity.

The master gave her roses.

Several roses, some for her accomplishments, others when she was sad, a few for no reason at all. Always red, always with a black ribbon, and most importantly, always with his love.

She came and she left. The monkey rather hated her. Was she not as kind and sweet as his master had said? Believes? Believed?

Then why did she reject him? Why? It made no sense! But since when did humans do? There was just enough concern in the monkey to feel disappointment for the phantom child.

So he watched, and listened, and so the phantom watched, and listened. Together they spoke.

The Phantom donned his skull mask, drew his red cape, and wielded the bound leather of _Don Juan Triumphant_ and ascended upwards. He carried their song.

He exploded into the world, flame and passion, burning and angry, lonely and yearning. He carried their song and demanded his dues.

The barrel monkey was both pleased with his master's assertion of his feelings and disappointed in his descent into the world of wants.

Then when his master returned, that one last time –it knew it was the last time, it just knew- with that girl in tow the monkey prepared itself for its last wish.

His master, that girl, and another man sang, screamed, wept, and accepted.

As if to mock his master's misery the girl returned, returned his ring, his hope, his love, and ran away once more.

His master knelt, weeping, broken, burnt out, and lost.

The monkey felt it then, deep within its lead core, something was rising. This boy –yes boy, for no matter how mature or old this boy became he would never catch up in years to the singing figure seated on its organ throne- had touched the heart of the barrel monkey. Not with his hands, his wishes, his words, his actions…but with what he did not do.

This boy did not ask from it

This boy told it nothing, yet gave it everything.

This boy did not speak to it, but listened to its formerly wordless song. A song even it didn't know the words to until he sung it.

This boy had hidden from the world and given him refuge away from the world of the material and wishes.

This boy had dreamed without frustration, dreamed with pure hope.

This boy learned without judgment. He took all knowledge without bias.

This boy had taken the dank and the dark and turned it into a musical heaven, without help.

This boy had loved and let go, despite all that he wanted and yearned he let go and accepted. He stayed with it.

_One last wish. I feel your pain, your love, I feel you. For the first time I feel, and I understand._

Slowly, slowly, eternally slowly but building up in speed, it began to sing its song. Its arms, creaky with age brought itself together for one last wish and it wound itself and played its, no, their song.

Their song chimed through the empty cavern, and the boy-no, man, he would not outlive the monkey after this, most likely-, turned, astonished. He knelt beside the monkey and just like all those years before began to sing. His voice deepened with age, roughened with sorrow, and strained with hope.

"Masquerade, paper faces on parade…hide your face…and the world…will never find you."

Suddenly the man stood, and hid. He performed his last trick and disappeared, leaving his mask behind as another surface dweller came.

But the monkey was not disappointed, betrayed, or anything of the sort. No.

The monkey smiled and slept. It had one last wish to grant before it ceased to play. Just as that man had one last rose to give before he faded.

The monkey woke, years later, as he was set down in the world of material once more. But he knew, this was the final wish of that man.

_Please, be with her where I cannot._ That man's heart had whispered to its own.

The monkey waited until the man in the wheelchair left, and he sang their song.

He wondered if that man was dead yet, he felt the last of his life begin to fade as his song began to wind down.

"Masquerade, paper faces on parade…masquerade…hide your face and the world will never find you!"

A papier-mâché barrel monkey then hushed and listened as the final strains of their song faded out of the world, and inwardly smiled as a rose with ribbon was set down next to it. Fingers brushed the Persian robes into place one last time. Fingers brushed its leaden features, checking each crevice and exploring the new and the familiar features for the final time. And left.

_And so it shall be my loving master._


End file.
